


We Could Dance

by theeternalblue



Series: About Gallant and Brute Men [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3914647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theeternalblue/pseuds/theeternalblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Apparently, we are creepily staring at some girls."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Could Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Finally. Here it is what I've written for Porthos. Please do comment about what you think, because I've included original characters and they scare me the most.

There's a part of him that's always been jealous of Aramis. Yes, he's his best friend and his adventures do make him happy, but he has this _joie-de-vivre_ Porthos lacks. He's not saying that his life has been harder than Aramis' — they both have problems in different senses. But he does admits he's had a harder time dealing with it. It is perhaps the unknown, which leaves an itch behind that he cannot scratch.

He has no memory of his father, and his mother has never mentioned him. Bringing up the subject was usual whenever he saw other kids playing with their fathers, but he soon learned not to speak of it. The seldom times Porthos has spoken about that man, his mother ignores him and moves past it as if his words were a mere breeze. It's much better than when she cried when he was little — to this day, she swears he never heard her. Even so, he does not hold this against her. She's been more than enough for him, but it's difficult to ignore that part he feels missing.

His mother's beautiful dark skin is not the same tone as his. His nose is different and he's much taller and muscular than he could imagine a male version of her could ever be. There are quirks he has that have no explanation. He's also allergic to shellfish, and his mother couldn't love them more. All of this must have a reason and he would like to learn it. He would like to meet his father.

Of course he says none of this aloud. The last thing Porthos would want is to make his mother feel guilty. Since he can remember, she has worked hard for him, for them. They aren't rich by any means, but they manage, and more importantly, she always makes time to share with him.

When he left home to study, he was scared to leave her alone. They were tight and he helped with some money working part-time at a restaurant as a busboy — and even if he disliked being bossed around, he learned to bite back comments that could potentially get him in trouble. Surviving won over pride.

"Promise you won't worry about me," his mother said, looking up at him, craning her neck to look into his eyes. Her bright smile coaxed him to mirror it. "Porthos!"

He chuckled and nodded. "I promise, Mum."

And then she hugged him, as tight as her arms allowed her. Even if she let go, he knew that emotionally they would never be apart. She was so proud of him for going to university, for wanting more in life than just getting by. But she needed to see that if he was doing all of that, it was because she had taught him to never believe in the impossible.

It was stupid of him to be risking all that because of a game of cards. It seemed like easy money taken from the slimy fingers of snobbish kids. But he should've known better. In life, there was nothing easy that lasted.

He handed the money Athos had so generously lent him to the pimple-faced boy in front of him, grumbling menacingly under his breath. Right then, Porthos decided to straighten things up a bit. He was still a student with an adventurous streak, but he was a devoted son who loved his mother, and so he would do everything in his power to make his mother proud.

o~o~o

"A _massimo_ Americano and, um, a muffin. Triple chocolate," Porthos gabbles while scratching the side of his face. His nails against the stubble make a sound both annoying and soothing. If he could, he would take a needle and shoot caffeine right through his veins. Statistics are extremely difficult for him — he chose to get an applied sport science degree mainly because he isn't very good with books, which doesn't mean he is terrible.

The girl behind the counter smiles and nods curtly after asking if he doesn't need anything else. He shakes his head as a no. Soon she keys something in the register and prattles the price. When Porthos shoves his hand in the pocket of his jeans, he only finds two one pound notes crumpled almost beyond recognition. He curses under his breath — that won't even get him the coffee.

"Could you add a roasted hazelnut latte to that, please?" A soft voice murmurs from his side and then a delicate and pale hand hands the girl at the register a tenner. Once he finds the face that goes with the hand, Porthos is a little shocked.

Anne is smiling at him, in that way that gets Aramis to make a fool of himself.

"I'll pay you back." Seems like he's been saying that a lot lately.

She only shakes her head. "No need."

"I insist," he mutters irritably. One thing is to borrow money, but another entirely is to be given charity.

But then she turns to him as they move in line to wait for their order and allow the next person to move forward.

"Actually, my intentions aren't perhaps the purest." She bites her lip, and he does have to admit she's adorable in the way her naivety shows. Anne is much too pretty, but she's not his cup of tea. "You've granted me an entry."

He comprehends with just that look. "What do you want to know about Aramis?"

She blushes and laughs. "Am I that obvious? And here I was convincing myself of being so good at keeping a straight face whenever his name is mentioned."

If any of them thought they were being secretive, they were fooling themselves. Indeed, Porthos knows Aramis better than anyone — at least in uni — and he's seen the dreamy glint in his eyes whenever a message makes his mobile beep at night with a message from her. Aramis has never been like that with other girls. And yes, they have tried to _explore this_ — as Aramis calls it — in the quietest way possible. And as far as Porthos knows, that includes not jumping into bed. Yet — not that he's interested in the details.

"I don't mean to get you involved in our... _tryst_ ," she says the word as if she felt disgust at the taste of it. Porthos imagines that's how she feels. Anne doesn't look like the kind of girl who would get involved in an affair, but who knows? Good people doesn't mean perfect people. "You can refuse to tell me anything. And you don't need to hide this from him. I don't want to get in the way of your friendship. I'm aware Aramis and you are like brothers."

"I wasn't planning on doing that."

Sighing, Anne fingers the lid of her cup. "It's not that I don't believe him, but he has a reputation that precedes him. And even if I'm not as fragile as I look, when I've decided something, I pour my heart and soul on it. My only question is, is it worth it? Because I don't have the strength or time to pick myself up if for him I'm just another name in a list."

Worth it. Well, Aramis looks happier and calmer than he's ever been before. As all good friends, Porthos wants him to be happy. But then there's Athos, who believes this whole mess is going to end up badly. Often Porthos wonders if loving and losing _is_ better than never knowing that pleasure. Yes, it is possible that Aramis, the heart-breaker, has finally fallen for someone — it's unfortunate she's not as free to be with him as they both want to.

"Yes." Porthos smiles at her, at the way she inhales sharply while nodding. It's clear she needed that little push to make up her mind. "He might not be the man with the cleanest of pasts, but he's always tried to do good."

"I know."

"Would you take care of him?"

She drowns a laugh, but nods. It's silly to ask for her to take care of a man who looks like he can more than handle himself, but even the bravest and strongest of men can have weaknesses, ones that they don't know. "I will."

"Good," he mumbles before chugging down half of his coffee, making a sound of relief as the caffeine mixes with his blood.

She giggles and takes a little sip of her own cup.

Porthos sees a glimpse of why Aramis could love her.

o~o~o

During Children's Health and Wellbeing, Porthos sees Alice in a corner talking to one of her friends. He'd like to say he's over her, over their brief relationship that didn't last enough to consider it important, but it was intense and up until she told him she couldn't be with him, Porthos thought she was perfect for him.

And to make things worse, Alice wanted to keep him as a friend, rubbing salt on the wound. He asked her for time, but since they see each other a couple of times a week, it is difficult to avoid her anymore.

She lifts her hand to wave at him, her lips curving into a tiny smile. He presses his lips together but the smile is not there.

One day she'll make a lovely teacher, one of those children always remember fondly.

After shouldering his backpack, he leaves the building to meet Aramis and Athos for lunch. The day is chilly, but he likes it like that, at least during a school year. If it were a hot day, he would be complaining about needing a day off and spending time outside.

"So, what are we doing?" Porthos says as he sits down next to Athos, who as usual looks bored. Porthos has always believed his friend has lived too much in little time, and seeing the common lives of those around him only reminds him of such. He can lighten up a bit, of course, but it's not frequent.

"Apparently, we are creepily staring at some girls." Athos takes a bite of his quiche and looks at the dish attentively, without paying attention to the ineffective glare Aramis is throwing him.

Porthos cackles.

It's not like Anne doesn't glance their way from time to time, but she's busy with her friends — minus Constance, which he assumes is because d'Artagnan mentioned something about a study date. And while Aramis basks on the beauty of Anne, Porthos only studies her friends. They are a handful of girls who belong to the exchange program, just like Anne — this means there are all kinds of exotic beauties among them. One of them catches his eye with her jet black hair and deep brown eyes. The tone of her skin reminds him of the beach and for some reason he imagines she smells like summer. She turns to him, but doesn't smile.

When he stands to fetch a piece of fruit or something sweet for dessert, Anne hurries to his side and hands him a piece of paper.

"Are you trying to make him jealous?"

She looks at him amusedly. "Hardly. I doubt he could ever feel jealous."

"Of anyone else, not. Me? We both know I'm the only serious competition he has."

She snorts a laugh. Anne doesn't voice her agreement, but she might as well had. "Could you give it to him?"

"What about mobiles? Mails?"

Her cheeks turn bright red. "This is more... romantic. And he wrote me a poem." Oh, yes. That sounds very Aramis like.

He chuckles. "Sure."

"Thank you. Have a nice day." She is about to leave when he decides to try his luck.

"Um, Anne?"

"Yes?"

He looks at the table she's been sitting at and the girl's still there, chatting with a redhead but looking distant. "What's her name? The girl in the burgundy jumper."

Anne's brow knits together as she looks at her friends and then there's a smile on her face, the kind of smile Aramis gets when he's planning mischief — Porthos wonders if that's his imagination or perhaps those two have more in common than a first glance allows to see.

"You mean Mara?"

He rolls his eyes, but clears his throat. "What's her story?"

"She's single," Anne says first, as if he had asked that — but he did want to know, obviously. "She wants to become a doctor. She speaks Spanish — that's how we met. Her mother is from Ceuta. Her father is from Bath. A sweet girl with a hard exterior, if I'm allowed to say. Do you want me to introduce you?"

"What?" He squeaks, which makes her laugh. "No! I mean, I don't want to interrupt your... whatever. I need to finish my lunch."

He bolts out right after telling her that she's not so subtle making eyes at lover-boy. Anne presses her lips in a line, refraining herself from grinning like a mad woman — a mad woman in love. With that he feels little relief that Anne will forget his questions about that girl — Mara.

When Porthos hands the note to Aramis, he smiles like a fool.

"A poem?"

"No," Aramis mutters, and happily shows them a pair of tickets that were inside the note. "She invited me to the theater."

o~o~o

So Anne's not the one who introduces them. They meet at the gym, when Porthos is lifting weights and his eyes wander at the sight of a shapely pair of legs. He'd like to say that is not the first thing that get his attention, but he admits he's only a man, and instincts get the best of him. Besides a pair of hips like that hugged by tights are really something to appreciate. He unglues his eyes from her and goes back to his routine, but Athos already has that annoying half smirk on his lips.  
  
"What?" Porthos barks.  
  
"Nothing. Have I said anything?"  
  
No. He hasn't. But he's thinking about it. That's the thing with Athos — he doesn't say much, but he watches them and knows everything. He cracks jokes and mocks them, but he barely bothers to smile. It's terrifying and kind of incredible at the same time. It takes some getting used to.  
  
"You are leaning too much to the right," Porthos says when he happens to see Mara lifting a kettlebell. "Your back will complain in the morning. You'll need a good rub for that."  
  
He doesn't tend to blush or get embarrassed, but when he sees her arching an eyebrow at him, he is halfway to getting there. Her dark eyes are full of challenge and he enjoys that. There's nothing like the thrill of the chase, of the unknown — and nothing makes the reward sweeter when you win.  
  
"Are you offering?" Her accent is all over the place, and he couldn't pinpoint where she comes from if Anne hadn't told him.  
  
Porthos chokes. What's the right thing to answer so he doesn't blow his chances? If he plays dumb, she might lose her interest. If he's too bold, she might smack him with the kettlebell.  
  
"Well?" Mara prompts and her hip juts out when her hand lands there. "I'm waiting."  
  
"Not very chivalrous of you to leave the lady waiting, is it?" Athos comments while walking past them to the showers. Right at that moment, Porthos hates him.  
  
"I could teach you. I'm studying to get a degree in applied sport science."  
  
"How much?"  
  
He frowns when he understands what she's asking about. "I won't charge you. Besides, you're Anne's friend."  
  
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "I thought I had seen you somewhere. I'm sorry if you thought I was being rude, but there was another guy who asked for money to help me with a routine."  
  
It would be a nice idea for a business, but that's not what he's seeing in front of him. Mara is a pretty girl, petite but with dangerous curves in the right places. The protective side of him flares up — and his hormones too.  
  
It's easy to teach her a couple of exercises because she's a good student. Soon they are talking some more while working out and she tells him how much she likes to end up tired, because that way she lets some of her stress go. He says for him is basically the same, helping him to control his emotions — he doesn't mention how much it does for him to control his cravings to gamble, but Porthos guesses that includes emotions.  
  
By the time they declare it's enough for the day, Athos has left.  
  
"So, what are you doing now?" Mara asks as they make their way towards the showers.  
  
"I'm hungry, so I'll probably go for something to eat."  
  
"May I go? I mean, if it doesn't bother you. I hate to eat alone."  
  
And that's how they end up sitting in front of each other in a tiny booth. Porthos is mesmerized as she wolfs down a serving of chips and greedily slurps a tall glass of ginger ale. He's taking big bites of his burger and not even bothering to stop and breathe. They don't really talk much but it's not awkward as it could be.  
  
"You have," Mara makes a gesture near her mouth, but instead of telling him, she grabs a napkin and cleans the side of his mouth and beard. "Mustard." She smiles and it's flirty and they both know it. Her cheeks are bathed in pink since she left the gym, so he cannot really know if he's provoking that.  
  
Before she can take her hand back and finish the five or seven fries left in front of her, Porthos grabs her by the wrist. It's sudden and she's startled. His touch is gentle, and soon her salty fingers slide through his own greasy ones. They lock eyes and this time, when she smiles, he knows it's because of him.  
  
Painfully, Porthos realizes soon why he's not good at this when out of the corner of his eye he sees Alice looking at him from across the room. His hand loses the grip on Mara's, and she notices. Her smile dissapears and she takes her hand back.  
  
"I must go. We should ask for the bill." Mara cleans her hands on a napkin and the magic it's gone. He ruined it.  
  
At the end of the night, when he returns to the flat and finds Aramis with a big grin on his face and texting on his phone, he's close to ask him for advice and once for all talk about what the hell he needs to do to fix his messy love life.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Who do you want next? Athos? D'Artagnan? More Aramis or Porthos?


End file.
